Finding the Anchor
People sometimes ask where my ideas come from. The truth is, I rarely begin a restoration with a complete vision. I might have a general direction in mind, but I almost never know exactly how a house will look when it's finished.
Instead, I wait for what I think of as the anchor.
It might be an architectural feature. It might be a piece of furniture, a color, or even a single material. Whatever it is, it becomes the idea that everything else grows around. Once I find it, the house begins to make sense.
The Tennyson, which eventually became the cover of Carried Forward, found its anchor early in the restoration. I added a stone panel across the front of the house. It wasn't a dramatic change, but it completely changed the way I saw the house. The traditional Victorian suddenly felt quieter and more contemporary while still respecting its original architecture. From that point forward, the exterior almost designed itself. The colors, trim, and landscaping all grew from that single decision because they were no longer competing for attention. They were supporting the same idea.
The Scandinavian Harrison found its anchor in a different way. The vertical siding gave the house its identity. Once that decision was made, every other exterior choice became easier because the materials and colors all had something to respond to.
Sometimes a house surprises me, like the Magnolia. At first, I thought the roof needed to change. The more I lived with the house, though, the more I realized it already had the feature that should define the exterior. Keeping the roof wasn't simply a decision to preserve it. It became the foundation for everything that followed. The stonework, siding, trim colors, and landscaping all grew naturally from that choice.
Looking back, I've realized I don't really build houses one room at a time. I build around an idea. Once I discover the element that gives a house its identity, the rest of the work becomes less about making decisions and more about staying true to that original vision.
Not every house reveals its anchor right away. The Lawbre didn't. I had created mockups, studied the architecture, and imagined several different interiors. Every time I thought I was ready to begin, I found myself putting it back on the shelf.
For a while, I thought I was procrastinating. Looking back, I don't think I was. I simply hadn't found the anchor yet. There was something about that house I didn't understand, and experience had already taught me not to rush those moments. Every other restoration had eventually revealed the one idea everything else wanted to grow around. The Lawbre hadn't done that yet. Instead of forcing it, I waited.
When I eventually reached into the garage for my next project, I fully intended to bring the Lawbre into the workshop. Instead, I picked up Victoria's Farmhouse. It wasn't a carefully considered decision. It was instinct.
Looking back, I think I was responding to something I couldn't yet explain. Victoria's Farmhouse had already revealed its direction. The Lawbre was still asking me to listen.
I've come to trust those moments.
Experience has taught me that when a house isn't ready to tell me who it wants to become, the best thing I can do is give it more time. Until then, the best thing I can do is keep looking. I've also learned that the most important decision in a restoration usually isn't the first one I make, it's the first one that feels true.
Everything else has a way of following.
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